


When You Were Young

by suliel



Category: Dragonlance - Margaret Weis & Tracy Hickman
Genre: Bittersweet, Could be X Reader, F/M, Realistic, Songfic, in character? maybe, slightly ooc tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-01
Updated: 2018-07-01
Packaged: 2019-05-31 23:59:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15130613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suliel/pseuds/suliel
Summary: Raistlin reminisces and thinks himself through a chance meeting with a childhood companion. Inspired by “When You Were Young” by The Killers.





	When You Were Young

**Author's Note:**

> Experimenting with 2nd person narration. Hope you enjoy!

When you were young, you followed her footsteps through the village like they held the knowledge of a thousand libraries. When you were young, you hung on her every word like they were the melodies of the high elves. When you were young, she was the most beautiful thing on the good green earth. When you were young, it didn’t matter that you were weaker than her, that your brother showed you up all the time around her. When you were young just seeing her on the other side of the road as you passed brought own was blessing enough. When you were young your sister invited her over and you watched in awe as they braided each other’s hair and talked about adventures they wanted to live. When you were young you dabbled in everything together, you told each other secrets and kept them like priceless artifacts. When you were young, you reveled in the promise of always being able to fall back on each other.

But you’re old, now, objectively, and she doesn’t recognize you as you walk into her shop. She greets you like a stranger, offering you a cup of tea as you browse. She still brews it the way you always liked it, but she doesn’t call you by name. She doesn’t realize, not until Caramon walks in behind you, that it’s you.

You’re old, now, and when she realizes she gasps and drops the teapot. It breaks. The fragrant drink soaks the wooden floor, dried herbs swirling to a stop. You’re old, and she’s hugging you, but you don’t feel it. You’re old and she’s asking what happened, where Kitiara is, why you didn’t visit earlier. You’re old and you can see her comparing your youth together to what she sees now, and she’s conflicted, and she doesn’t know how to feel, even as she treats you with all the kindness in her heart. You’re old, and different, and wiser and sicker and coarser, and she’s looking at you with empty eyes trying to find something in your hollow eyes she can still love. You’re old, and she’s clinging to the image of you young and in love as if she can pin the past to the present.

But you’re still you, and you find the faith in your heart to offer her the smallest of smiles. She has a husband, now, and children of her own, but she still looks at you in the same way she did when you were young. Nothing’s changed. As long as you only shared this one, last moment together, nothing has changed. Years have passed, but you’re still you, and she’s still her, and you can never be together, not ever, but still. She gives you a parting gift and you thank her, and your hands touch one last time as you leave, and she calls out her goodbyes from the door, waving after you with a bittersweet expression, knowing you will never stop at her doorstep again and you will never see each other after you lose her from your line of vision.


End file.
